


Here We Are (Where Are You)

by janescott



Category: The Borgias
Genre: M/M, One Shot, PWP, Rating: NC17
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-17
Updated: 2012-01-17
Packaged: 2017-10-29 16:45:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/321997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janescott/pseuds/janescott
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Uhm. Smut, really. And I'm late to The Borgias party I guess.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here We Are (Where Are You)

**Author's Note:**

> This iteration of The Borgias belongs to Neil Jordan and to Showtime. Fan-fic for fun only :-) Beta'd by magenta.

He waits.

He waits, in the centre of the room while the Cardinal - while Cesare - circles him like a hawk, delicately honing in on its prey.

Micheletto waits, and he breathes. In. Out. In. Out. He exhales as quietly as he can as Cesare circles again; close enough to touch this time - close enough for Micheletto to smell the incense that always clings to his robes, and the salty-sour smell of sweat underneath that.

He circles again and Micheletto unconsciously straightens. This time, Cesare stops, his fingertips pressed lightly against the front of Micheletto’s vest.

“Tell me, my assassin … what would you do for me?”

It’s a game, of sorts. Cesare pushes and pushes, watching closely for Micheletto’s reactions. As far as Micheletto can tell, it’s a game that neither of them have yet won.

Or lost.

“Anything, your Eminence,” Micheletto replies, quietly.

“Anything,” Cesare replies, his breath ghosting over Micheletto’s ear.

Micheletto resists the urge to swallow, or turn his head, too aware of Cesare’s fingertips on his chest, stroking over the leather of his tunic.

“Yes. Your Eminence.”

“You have … killed for me. Saved me, more than once. Tell me assassin … would you die for me?”

“Yes, your Eminence.” Micheletto’s voice is barely above a whisper, but he doesn’t hesitate. Cesare is so close to him now that he can feel his red robes swirling around his own feet.

“Would you betray me, assassin?”

“No, Your Eminence. Never.”

“So loyal, Micheletto,” Cesare says, softly.

“Always, Your Eminence,” Micheletto replies. He can feel his blood rising in his veins; can feel it pooling low in his belly. He bites back a groan when Cesare presses against him, moving his hands to Micheletto’s hips, gripping on to his belt like he’s expecting him to bolt.

Of course, he’s not going anywhere. Not with Cesare so close. He turns his head slightly and that’s all it takes - all Cesare needs.

His mouth is rough and demanding; nothing of finesse in it at all, and all Micheletto can do is grab on to Cesare’s robes so he doesn’t end up flat on the floor.

Cesare breaks the kiss first and if Micheletto didn’t know him so well would say he was completely unaffected. But Micheletto can see the slight flush high on his cheeks, and his breath ghosting over Micheletto’s face is unsteady.

“Attend me,” he says softly, right into Micheletto’s ear.

Micheletto swallows as Cesare lets go of his belt and steps back slightly.

“Yes, your Eminence.”

Micheletto is careful with Cesare’s robes - as careful as he is with the instruments of his own profession; pulling them gently over Cesare’s head before smoothing them down, checking for marks or tears.

He finds nothing, so hangs them carefully in the large closet in the corner of Cesare’s bedroom. He turns back to Cesare, now sitting on the edge of the bed, his eyes hooded, but watching Micheletto’s every move.

“You have missed your calling, assassin,” Cesare says softly as Micheletto sets to work on removing his underclothes. “You should have been a valet.”

Micheletto smiles at that, running his hand down Cesare’s exposed chest, digging his fingers into the short, dark hairs. “I lack the patience for such an occupation, Eminence. The only one I’m interested in attending on, is you.”

Cesare laughs softly at that, even as he reaches up to Micheletto’s shoulder, pushing him silently to his knees.

Micheletto goes willingly - more than willingly - and glances up, once, to search Cesare’s eyes. They’re still guarded - almost always these days - but his smile is warming their centre and Micheletto lets out a breath he wasn’t aware of holding in.

“Careful, now, assassin. I would not want you to - oh.”

Whatever Cesare had been about to say is lost when Micheletto takes his length - still only half-hard into his mouth; sucking on it gently until the stimulus makes it rise to its full thickness.

Micheletto closes his eyes as he sucks; relying for now on the locked door, and on his sharp ears to tell him of anything untoward as he attends to his Cardinal’s needs.

He allows himself a small groan in the very back of his throat as he encloses the head of Cesare’s cock with his mouth, aware of his teeth, and careful with his beard, which will be giving another level of sensation.

“Ah. Micheletto …” Cesare’s voice is soft, and his hand in Micheletto’s hair is gentle for the moment.  
Micheletto lets his rhythm be dictated by that hand; slow and nearly teasing while it’s gentle, Cesare’s fingertips barely cupping his skull.

When Cesare shifts his hips; canting them forward slightly and pulling at the strands of Micheletto’s hair, he deepens his up-and-down wet slide; relaxing his throat as much as he can as Cesare’s thrusts become erratic and his hand is digging into Micheletto’s hair hard enough to pull strands out when he comes, strangling a shout low in his own throat.

It’s never Micheletto’s favourite taste - too salty and heavy on his tongue - but he has nowhere to go, trapped between Cesare’s hand and his body, his softening cock slipping out of his mouth.

He pushes back on to his haunches, and he waits. He resists the urge to press his palm against his own cock; hard against the rough inner lining of his breeches. He wipes at his mouth and chin, and he waits.

Cesare could send him away now; has done before, if the guilt is stronger than his desire to be close to someone he can trust so implicitly with all of his secrets.

“Micheletto,” Cesare says then; quietly.

Micheletto looks up to see the same guarded yet soft look in Cesare’s eyes.

“Yes, your Eminence.”

“Attend me.”

“Yes, your Eminence.”

Micheletto pushes himself to his feet, reaching down to pull off his boots, then his breeches and the rest of his clothes, leaving them in an untidy pile beside Cesare’s bed.

He carefully removes his knives; leaving one strapped around his lower leg.  
“Troubled times, your Eminence,” he says as Cesare catches sight of the leather strap.

“Indeed. I’m comforted to know that I won’t be … unprotected.”

He moves back on the bed, rumpling the smoothed-out covers and sheets as he shifts, reaching out to pull Micheletto down with him.

Micheletto allows himself a small smile, curved against Cesare’s neck.

“I believe in caution always, Eminence,” he says as Cesare pushes him back and produces a small bottle of oil from under his pillow.

Cesare says nothing, frowning to himself as he pours oil on to his hand, smoothing it over his fingers.

“Admirable trait given your profession, Micheletto.”

Micheletto settles himself back on the bed, almost sighing as his healed scars rub against the soft fabric of the covers and pillows.

“How can I attend you, your Eminence? What would you have me do?”

The question is idle at best, as Micheletto doesn’t take his eyes from Cesare’s fingers, gleaming slick with oil in the room’s candlelight.

“Lie still, Micheletto, if you can,” Cesare says softly, curling his oiled fingers around Micheletto’s cock - hard and aching. Micheletto groans softly and closes his eyes.

He sinks back on to the bed as Cesare fists his cock, slick and warm with oil that leaves a lingering scent on the air.

The room is silent apart from the sound of Cesare’s hand, and of the small groans Micheletto can’t stop spilling from his throat until Cesare silences them with his mouth, his tongue hot and wet.

“Micheletto … for me …” Cesare whispers in his ear when he breaks the kiss and it’s all Micheletto needs to go over the edge, his hips pushing up from the bed, his hand scrabbling uselessly at Cesare’s back.

They lie side by side in silence until Micheletto stirs himself, his muscles feeling heavy and liquid.

Cesare lies back among the pillows, his eyes guarded again.

Micheletto pulls his clothes back on, repositioning his daggers as he moves, aware of Cesare’s eyes burning into his back.

“Tell me, Micheletto,” he says suddenly, reaching out a hand to trace over a scar low on Micheletto’s back “have I ever used you ill?”

Micheletto pulls his shirt over his head and turns around, meeting Cesare’s shadowed gaze. He can’t read the Cardinal’s face, so can’t decide where the question is coming from or what it means.

He does, however, know the answer.

“No, your Eminence. You have never used me ill.”

Cesare sighs and slumps back on the bed, his mouth catching on a yawn.

“I would have you back here early in the morning, Micheletto.” His voice is blurry with sleep and his eyes are mostly closed as Micheletto finishes tugging at the laces on his breeches.

“Yes, your Eminence,” he says before making his way quietly to the door, unlocking it and stealing out into the hot, river-stinking night of Rome.


End file.
